Three Days to See
All of us have read thrilling stories in which the hero had only a limited and specified time to live. Sometimes it was as long as a year; sometimes as short as twenty-four hours.
But always we were interested in discovering just how the doomed man cho to spend his last days or his last hours. I speak, of cour, of free men who have a choice, not condemned criminals who sphere of activities is strictly delimited.
Such stories t us thinking, wondering what we should do under similar circumstances. What events, what experiences, what associations should we crowd into tho last hours as mortal beings? What happiness should we find in reviewing the past, what regrets?
Sometimes I have thought it would be an excellent rule to live each day as if we should die tomorrow. Such an attitude would emphasize sharply the values of life. We should live each day with a gentleness, a vigor, and a keenness of appreciation which are often lost when time stretches before us in the constant panorama of more days and months and years to come. There are tho, of cour, who would adopt the Epicurean motto of "Eat, drink, and be merry," but most people would be chastened by the certainty of impending death.
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In stories the doomed hero is usually saved at the last minute by some stroke of fortune, but almost always his n of values is changed. he becomes more appreciative of the meaning of life and its permanent spiritual values. It ahs often been noted that tho who live, or have lived, in the shadow of death bring a mellow sweetness to everything they do.
Most of us, however, take life for granted. We know that one day we must die, but usually we picture that day as far in the future. When we are in buoyant health, death is all but unimaginable. We ldom think of it. The days stretch out in an endless vista. So we go about our petty tasks, hardly aware of our listless attitude toward life.
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The same lethargy, I am afraid, characterizes the u of all our faculties and ns. Only the deaf appreciate hearing, only the blind realize the manifold blessings that lie in sight. Particularly does this obrvation apply to tho who have lost sight and hearing in adult life. But tho who have never suffered impairment of sight or hearing ldom make the fullest u of the blesd faculties. Their eyes and ears take in all sights and sounds hazily, without concentration and with little appreciation. It is the same old story of not being grateful for what we have until we lo it, of not being conscious of health until we are ill.
I have often thought it would be a blessing if each human being were stricken blind and deaf for a few days at some time during his early adult
life. Darkness would make him more appreciative of sight; silence would tech him the joys of sound.
Now and them I have tested my eing friends to discover what they e. Recently I was visited by a very good friends who had just returned from a long walk in the woods, and I asked her what she had obrved.. "Nothing in particular, " she replied. I might have been incredulous had I not been accustomed to such repos, for long ago I became convinced that the eing e little.
How was it possible, I asked mylf, to walk for an hour through the woods and e nothing worthy of note? I who cannot e find hundreds of things to interest me through mere touch. I feel the delicate symmetry of a leaf. I pass my hands lovingly about the smooth skin of a silver birch, or the rough, shaggy bark of a pine. In the spring I touch the branches of trees hopefully in arch of a bud the first sign of awakening Nature after her winter's sleep. I feel the delightful, velvety texture of a flower, and discover its remarkable convolutions; and something of the miracle of Nature is revealed to me. Occasionally, if I am very fortunate, I place my hand gently on a small tree and feel the happy quiver of a bird in full song. I am delighted to have the cool waters of a brook rush thought my open fi
nger. To me a lush carpet of pine needles or spongy grass is more welcome than the most luxurious Persian rug. To me the page ant of asons is a thrilling and unending drama, the action of which streams through my finger tips.感触很深
At times my heart cries out with longing to e all the things. If I can get so much pleasure from mere touch, how much more beauty must be revealed by sight. Yet, tho who have eyes apparently e little. the panorama of color and action which fills the world is taken for granted. It is human, perhaps, to appreciate little that which we have and to long for that which we have not, but it is a great pity that in the world of light the gift of sight is ud only as a mere conveniences rather than as a means of adding fullness to life.
If I were the president of a university I should establish a compulsory cour in "How to U Your Eyes". The professor would try to show his pupils how they could add joy to their lives by really eing what pass unnoticed before them. He would try to awake their dormant and sluggish faculties.
Perhaps I can best illustrate by imagining what I should most like to e if I were given the u of my eyes, say, for just three days. And while I am imagining, suppo you, too, t your mind to work on t
he problem of how you would u your own eyes if you had only three more days to e. If with the on-coming darkness of the third night you knew that the sun would never ri for you again, how would you spend tho three
precious intervening days? What would you most want to let your gaze rest upon?
I, naturally, should want most to e the things which have become dear to me through my years of darkness. You, too, would want to let your eyes rest on the things that have become dear to you so that you could take the memory of them with you into the night that loomed before you.
If, by some miracle, I were granted three eing days, to be followed by a relap into darkness, I should divide the period into three parts.
The First Day
On the first day, I should want to e the people who kindness and gentleness and companionship have made my life worth living. First I should like to gaze long upon the face of my dear teacher, Mrs. Anne Sullivan Macy, who came to me when I was a child and opened the outer world to me. I should want not merely to e the outline of her face, so that I could cherish it in my memory, but to
study that face and find in it the living evidence of the sympathetic tenderness and patience with which she accomplished the difficult task of my education. I should like to e in her eyes that strength of character which has enabled her to stand firm in the face of difficulties, and that compassion for all humanity which she has revealed to me so often.
I do not know what it is to e into the heart of a friend through that "Window of the soul", the eye. I can only "e" through my finger tips the outline of a face. I can detect laughter, sorrow, and many other obvious emotions. I know my friends from the feel of their faces. But I cannot really picture their personalities by touch. I know their personalities, of cour, through other means, through the thoughts they express to me, through whatever of their actions are revealed to me. But I am denied that deeper understanding of them which I am sure would come through sight of them, through watching their reactions to various expresd thoughts and circumstances, through noting the immediate and fleeting reactions of their eyes and countenance.
Friends who are near to me I know well, becau through the months and years they reveal themlves to me in all their phas; but of casual friends I have only an incomplete impression, an impression gained from a handclasp, from spoken words which I take from their lips with my finger tips, or which they tap into the palm of my hand.
明日黄花How much easier, how much more satisfying it is for you who can e to grasp quickly the esntial qualities of another person by watching the subtleties of expression, the quiver of a muscle, the flutter of a hand. But does it ever occur to you to u your sight to e into the inner nature of a friends or acquaintance/ Do not most of you eing
people grasp casually the outward features of a face and let it go at that?
For instance can you describe accurately the faces of five good friends? some of you can, but many cannot. As an experiment, I have questioned husbands of long standing about the color of their wives' eyes, and often they express embarrasd confusion and admit that they do not know. And, incidentally, it is a chronic complaint of wives that their husbands do not notice new dress, new hats, and changes in houhold arrangements.
The eyes of eing persons soon become accustomed to the routine of their surroundings, and they actually e only the startling and spectacular. But even in viewing the most spectacular sights the eyes are lazy. Court records reveal every day how inaccurately "eyewitness" e. A given event will be "en" in veral different ways by as many witness. Some e more than others, but few e everything that is within the range of their vision.
Oh, the things that I should e if I had the power of sight for just three days!
The first day would be a busy one. I should call to me all my dear friends and look long into their faces, imprinting upon my mind the outward evidences of the beauty that is within them. I should let my eyes rest, too, on the face of a baby, so that I could catch a vision of the eager, innocent beauty which precedes the individual's consciousness of the conflicts which life develops.
And I should like to look into the loyal, trusting eyes of my dogs - the grave, canny little Scottie, Darkie, and the stalwart, understanding Great Dane, Helga, who warm, tender , and playful friendships are so comforting to me.
On that busy first day I should also view the small simple things of my home. I want to e the warm colors in the rugs under my feet, the pictures on the walls, the intimate trifles that transform a hou into home. My eyes would rest respectfully on the books in raid type which I have read, but they would be more eagerly interested in the printed books which eing people can read, for during the long night of my life the books I have read and tho which have been read to me have built themlves into a great shining lighthou, revealing to me the deepest channels of human life and the human spirit.
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In the afternoon of that first eing day. I should take a long walk in the woods and intoxicate my eyes on the beauties of the world of Nature trying desperately to absorb in a few hours the vast splendor which is constantly unfolding itlf to tho who can e. On the way home from my woodland jaunt my path would lie near a farm so that I might e the
patient hors ploughing in the field 9perhaps I should e only a
tractor!) and the rene content of men living clo to the soil. And I should pray for the glory of a colorful sunt.
When dusk had fallen, I should experience the double delight of
井冈山风景名胜区being able to e by artificial light which the genius of man has created
to extend the power of his sight when Nature decrees darkness.
In the night of that first day of sight, I should not be able to sleep, so full would be my mind of the memories of the day.
The Second Day
The next day - the cond day of sight - I should ari with the dawn and e the thrilling miracle by which night is transformed into day.
I should behold with awe the magnificent panorama of light with which the sun awakens the sleeping earth.
This day I should devote to a hasty glimp of the world, past and prent. I should want to e the pageant of man's progress, the kaleidoscope of the ages. How can so much be compresd into one day? Through the muums, of cour. Often I have visited the New York Muum of Natural History to touch with my hands many of the objects there exhibited, but I have longed to e with my eyes the condend history of the earth and its inhabitants displayed there - animals and the races of men pictured in their native environment; gigantic carcass of dinosaurs and mastodons which roamed the earth long before man appeared, with his tiny stature and powerful brain, to conquer the animal kingdom; realistic prentations of the process of development in animals, in man, and in the implements which man has ud to fashion
for himlf a cure home on this planet; and a thousand and one other aspects of natural history.
我喜欢什么作文I wonder how many readers of this article have viewed this panorama of the face of living things as p
ictured in that inspiring muum. Many, of cour, have not had the opportunity, but I am sure that many who have had the opportunity have not made u of it. there, indeed, is a place to u your eyes. You who e can spend many fruitful days there, but I with my imaginary three days of sight, could only take a hasty glimp, and pass on.
My next stop would be the Metropolitan Muum of Art, for just as鲁迅自传
the Muum of Natural History reveals the material aspects of the world, so does the Metropolitan show the myriad facets of the human spirit. Throughout the history of humanity the urge to artistic expression has been almost as powerful as the urge for food, shelter, and procreation. And here , in the vast chambers of the Metropolitan Muum, is unfolded before me the spirit of Egypt, Greece, and Rome, as expresd in their art.
I know well through my hands the sculptured gods and goddess of the
